Of Human Form
by Cabbitshivers
Summary: Alucard's being his mischievous self again, and Seras Victoria is in much need of quiet time away from everything that is Hellsing... [Chapter Five added and Two updated, thanks Wood! Don't Anon next time, aye? I don't bite.]
1. Chop Wood

A/N: If there are any spelling mistakes other than the intentional ones (one in this part) and any discrepancies that you find particularly nagging (Like for instance me saying that Seras blushed, when technically that's not possible when one has no blood circulation.) please email me with the corrections. Oh, and if anyone out there is willing to beta my work I'd be eternally grateful. Just beware the random commas, they're slippery little suckers and are very talented at the power of suggestion.

Disclaimer: The standard disclaimer applies. I don't own Hellsing, Dracula, Interview With A Vampire, The Amityville Horror movie or whatever other vampire books/movies or series I may pool as resources. Whatever songs may be quoted or sung by various characters in this work of fanfiction do not belong to me, either. There will be a full listing of references in the authors' notes following the epilogue.

**I**

Vertigo. It swooped down upon her like a grey wave from an advancing ocean. A strange, high-pitched buzzing assailed her ears while spots of varying shades from white to black danced across her vision in frenzied static.

Red. There was lots of it. Magnified by the flood of longing that surged through her veins, it trapped her breath and filled her mouth with the hot, slippery taste of salt and iron. She swallowed, imagining it was the wine-coloured ambrosia that caressed the inside of her throat and not the saliva that threatened to stream from her mouth in long silver strings as if she were a ravenous dog. She was hungry, she was thirsty. The craving for the salty liquid was strong, so much stronger than her restraint. Her canines gnawed her lower lip in the farcical mimicry of feeding; her gums sore, aching, sharp stabs of pain shooting through the nerves and settling to pound in the joints of her taught jaw.

Red. Thick, vibrant liquid. It spilled across the table, glistening with amber elucidation, pouring from the edges in crimson falls to splash on the floor and fill the furrows between the stones.

Seras stuffed her knuckle into her mouth and bit down hard enough to cause a sharp pain. The ceiling whirled around overhead, and the muted candlelight slashed amber veins across the pitted granite walls.

Red. Hot and steaming, it gushed over the lip of the steel bucket in a fountain of continuous scarlet. Spilling, hot, exciting. . .

She forced herself to refrain from sinking her teeth into her own flesh, if only to stop the incredible urge within herself to bury her fangs deep within skin and muscle, to where the sharp points of her canines could puncture the fragile wall of an artery, and drain all of the sweet liquid from its chambers. She knew that if she were to sink her fangs into her own flesh there would be no sweet liquid to well from the perforations they would make, just the thick, dark sludge that congested in her veins. Even if there was, by some strange miracle, a main artery in her index finger. She needed to feed. She was so hungry. Thirsty. Ravenous.

Rapacious with the instinct and ignorant of the sharpness of her fangs and the position of her finger in accordance with; her jaw tightened and her teeth punched down voraciously into her knuckle. Starting, with a yelp of surprise and not a little pain, she yanked the wounded finger from her teeth's grasp. Abruptly her room slammed back into focus. The swimming stopped, her sight clearing, reality folding back upon itself, sucking up with it the sea of red lapping at the walls and sprouting endlessly from the jug in the centre of the room. Seras blinked, and came back to herself.

Well, that was certainly. . . intense.

The floor was clean, smooth and unstained. The table in the centre of the room was immaculate, too. And the only hint of the colour red was from the large sachet of type-O blood chilling on ice in the steel tureen Walter had left for her.

She sighed heavily, releasing a shaky breath. She was even more hungry than she'd thought. It was not often that her mutated mind made worse the reality she had a feeble footing on at best, and convinced her that everything was bleeding. Sometimes, when she had skipped a meal or two due to an extended mission, she'd see blood where there wasn't any. She had become accustomed to it, though, expected it almost - it was just a way of her transformed body telling her that she was neglecting her duties towards keeping it working adequately. But what had just happened. . . It was like some twisted scene from The Amityville Horror movie.

Sitting down daintily on the edge of her customized coffin-bed, feeling for the side with an outstretched hand before trusting herself to sink into the soft mattress, she unbuttoned and shrugged off her jacket. Despite the coolness of her keep room in the Hellsing mansion, she felt uncomfortably hot. She eyed the blood bag warily. It hadn't been all that long since she'd last fed. Master, overtly disapproving of her nasty habit of skipping lunch, had insisted upon it, actually shoving a sachet down the front of her shirt before the entire squad _ and _Sir Integral Hellsing, when the team she had been assigned to had returned from the latest mission successful. She smiled embarrassedly at the recollection of the mild amusement that had briefly twitched at the corners of Lady Integral's lips and eyes, and that idiosyncratic grin Master always wore as it dipped into a fabricated frown before broadening into something wholly disturbing. She swore, sometimes he was so henish - if there was such a word. Pick, pick, picky Master. She was glad that she was in her room so no one could witness her embarrassment.

Still glaring at the tureen and its viciously delightful passenger, she folded her jacket, carelessly tossing it over onto one of the naked chairs around the table, and then started with her shirt. She popped the first few buttons, tugging the bottom free from her skirt and then unfastened the remainder, leaving the blue police shirt to hang open. Kicking off her shoes and pushing them under the bed with her toes, she rose and moved towards the table. Plucking the sachet of O-Pos blood that had been generously left for her to go momentarily insane with blood lust over from the polished steel tureen, she unfolded the drip-tube from the end and using it as an improvised straw, drained the sachet of its entire contents in a few un-ladylike sucks. She didn't care if it appeared gluttonous – who was gonna see anyway? Well, other than the possibility of Master walking through the wall singing something unintelligible rather loudly, or materialising unannounced in her room, that is. And he wouldn't care anyway; he'd just find it amusing. Besides, she didn't have the time to be civilized with her feeding. She was tired, and grumpy, and more than a little annoyed at her Master for humiliating her like that in front of her team-mates. Not to mention that Fergusson had chastised her earlier that evening for 'rough-handling' one of the newbies on the team she was assigned to. Really, it had not been her fault. It wasn't like she could avoid the situation in any way. The blasted kid with the nerve to grab her ass had been begging for it! And hearing her Master laughing in her head while she was being trampled down by the more than domineering voice of Fergusson had been an extra affront to her pride.

More angry than she had realized, she tossed the empty sachet back onto the table and set about readying herself for sleep. Pausing on her way about the chamber to blow out the candles Walter had considerately lit for her, she took up her carelessly flung jacket and folded it neatly, re-draping it over the back of the chair. Blowing out the last small flame, she flung herself none too carefully onto her bed and activated the mechanism that lowered the lid over the base. With a dull 'thunk' the coffin sealed itself around her.

For long minutes she stared at the lid of her resting place. The darkness was no hindrance to her vision and she could see in perfect detail the swirls and flecks of a darker hue in the deep sable grain less than half a foot from the tip of her nose.

"I really ought to put some pictures up in here." She whispered to herself.

With a final few moments of glaring at the small darker whorl of grain that somewhat resembled a drowned version of her Master's hat, she closed her eyes and waited for the days shadows to come and take her.

"Sleep well, Master," She murmured, sinking into the silent rest that was so like sleep but was not; for in that darkness she would never dream.

:: You too, Policewoman. :: His sepulchral baritone replied, echoing quietly in her mind as her consciousness faded and slipped into the dark.

Tsuzuku. . .


	2. Carry Water

II

* * *

The first thing she became aware of, as her consciousness swum up through the darkness, was the faint smell of something burning. Recognizing instantly the aroma of melting candle wax, she cracked open her eyes and settled them upon the dark lid of her coffin with the ingrained image reminiscent of her Master's hat. She lay still, listening to the faint whooshing sounds the flames made as they burned the oxygen around their tiny conflagrations, and the quiet murmurs of voices and footsteps in the halls and rooms far above hers. She inhaled and sighed, blinking slowly while still staring up at the lid of her bed. The sounds were good to wake up to. She didn't know why it was, yet, but they were. Perhaps they served to remind her that even though she herself was undead, the world itself had not ceased its spinning and that life was moving on regardless of her change of dance partners. Though the thought of being a wallflower in life's waltz was not particularly appealing, it certainly was better than being. . . well. . . properly dead. Yes, the sounds of the manor living and breathing with the life of its occupants were definitely good things. Definitely made her feel less like she should be buried six and a half feet under ground, in a coffin of blessed silver and surrounded by a holy water moat. They also gave her an incentive to get up. When the entire building around her was awake, the last thing she wanted to do was be staring up at the inside lid of a closed coffin.

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes curiously. Was it just her, or did the hat stain on the lid of the coffin look slightly different? Raising a brow in inquisitiveness, she reached up and lightly brushed her fingers against the dark whorls of wood. The stain shouldn't look any different. The wood was dead. Dead things didn't move. . . well, normal dead things at any rate. She and her Master were not to be included in that hypothesis. But something was seemingly. . . off about it, though. She dug her nail into the stain. It was a little. . . Abruptly the wood began to shift around her finger, giving off the appearance that it was actually melting, and before she could yank her hand away a face appeared directly above her, her probing index finger shoved unceremoniously up the manifestation's nose.

"Ahhhhhhhh!!!!" With a suppressed squeal she yanked her invading digit from that desecrated nostril and watched with wide ruby eyes as the face stared at her silently for a moment, before exploding into uproarious laughter.

"Policegirl!" Her Master cried delightedly, his head sticking through the lid of the coffin and canine's flashing white in the non-light. "I thought it far too late to be sleeping! Get up."

"M-muh. . ." Shocked and a little perturbed, the only sounds that managed to leave her throat were the choked, strangled attempts at an obligatory honorific. "Ma-mast. . ."

Alucard watched with amusement as his tyro fumbled for control of her tongue.

"Really, Policegirl." He scolded, his grin broadening and cutting a wide trough through his jaw. "This is what becomes of such creatures as we when we become fussy with our food! I assume you are trying to call me 'Master', though if 'Mama' is all that you can manage then I shall have to settle with that, however incorrect and unflattering it may be."

As the jovial voice of the long life king deepened to sync with the small serious frown that had creeped up to grace his lips while he thought about the implications of his student calling him 'Mama' and the snootily smirking face of Walter should the nosy shinigami ever hear; Seras had managed to regain a somewhat feeble hold of her vocal chords.

"Master!" She cried, her voice sharp with perplexity and lingering irritation.

Alucard's eyes widened in mock astonishment as he politely ignored her impertinent tone. "Oh! So you **can** pronounce it!" The small grin commandeered his lips as his voice again turned serious. "However, I would like to know why you have disobeyed my order, policewoman. You're still in bed. Do I need to repeat myself?"

"N-no!" Confusion was shoved temporarily from her eyes by the trained need to obey orders, and barely thinking about it she swung her left hand to the side and slapped her palm against the button of the controller planted on her mattress.

With a 'click' followed by a quiet whirring sound the lid of her coffin-bed smoothly rose up from the base and - without a jolt or a start - passed stately through the deceptively substantial yet apparently **not** figure of her master as he floated unperturbed horizontally a half foot above her and the bed. The sudden splash of candlelight across the mattress accentuated his features and highlighted the details that were missing in the darkness when the coffin was closed, and it was now that Seras became uncomfortably aware of the secretive amusement underlaying his features as he pointedly dragged his eyes, barely visible from behind the orange lenses of his glasses, down the length of her body. Seras squirmed under the unconcealed scrutiny and felt the incredible urge to cross her hands over her chest. Why was Master looking at her like that? The confusion previously forgotten returned full force when the small quirk at the edges of Alucard's lips widened into a fang-filled grin as he lifted his head back to meet her eyes, the brim of his hat almost brushing the tip of her nose as it passed. With a white-gloved hand he reached up and dipped his glasses. Meeting her wide ruby eyes with the amused gaze of his own, he winked quickly at her before shoving his specs back into place and abruptly righting himself.

Seras, momentarily stunned speechless by the unexpected and crazily endearing wink, felt the dipping of the mattress to either side of her as her eccentric master planted his feet opposite sides of her hips, unable to do anything but stare up at him with wide scarlet eyes as he loomed above her and continued to eye her with that unreadable expression adorning his face. She swallowed almost convulsively, made suddenly aware of how dry her throat was when the first gulp induced another. She blinked when her master began to speak again.

"Well, policewoman. You've drawn attention." He drawled, a peculiar note of merriment stringing through the otherwise serious tone of his words. "It seems I have been reduced in my position as the residents head special agent Vampire to nothing more than a mere vampiristic messenger boy. However, Fergusson wishes to speak with you." He tugged at his cuffs indignantly, then with no warning, disappeared.

Seras lay prone for a moment longer, waiting, almost certain that her master had not really left and had just given the appearance that he had. For almost a full minute she remained in the same position, and by the end of it her fingers were twisting themselves in the sheet beneath her from the sheer expectation that he was going to pop back up again directly in front of her. Starting to feel at least a little less jumpy and nervous, she thought it was probably now safe enough to push herself up into a sitting position.

"And policewoman," Her master's voice sounded abruptly from right beside her, causing her to jump and let out a tiny 'meep' of surprise. "I suggest you change into something more ahem suitable. Though seeing you like this is a pleasant change, I fear Fergusson may be induced into receiving a premature heart attack should you arrive in his office dressed as you are."

Seras caught glimpse of another broad grin before her master faded away and she was left, for certain, alone in her chambers. Sighing in relief, for that had been a very awkward awakening, she pushed herself over to the edge of the bed and cast a quick inspection around her room to see whether Walter had brought her meal in yet. Eyes lighting upon the double-unit sachet cooling in the tureen of ice, she was made very aware that he had as almost immediately within her the hunger rose and the bitter taste of her own saliva flooded her mouth. Gasping at the unexpectedly voracious longing from early that morning, she clamped her jaw shut, squeezed her eyes tightly closed and shook her head vigorously to clear it of the haze that had made the rest of the room grey almost instantly. Daring to open them again, something else draped over the back of a chair caught her eye, and immediately her masters last parting words were brought to mind.

_'I suggest you change into something more ahem suitable. . .'_

Mind latching onto the way he had pointedly cleared his throat, she flicked her head down and became immediately aware of why her master had been staring at her so. . . incongruously.

She had been practically naked!

Seras felt abruptly compelled to curl into a ball and await shrivelling away into nothing, seeming death just wasn't going to happen unless someone extended a very warm and open welcome to Anderson sometime in the near future (before Alucard found a way to make him stay dead on a permanent basis). Her shirt was unbuttoned completely; half-falling off her shoulders, and one of her breasts was threatening to come free of her bra entirely. What was worse was that sometime during the day while she slept she had managed to twist and turn enough that her short policewoman's skirt had bunched up around her waist, exposing her bare thighs and hips, and giving her master the perfect unobstructed view of her Sexy Commando underwear.

"Ahhh, damnitt!"

What was she going to do now? Her master had already seen her in such a. . . a. . . an anarchic state! Hiding would do her no good, now, and she had to go up and report to Fergusson as soon as possible! Typical, just when she thought the worse was over, something like this had to happen. At least she could trust her master to not expose her in any way. . . or her strange taste in underwear with foreign anime characters on them. She groaned and cradled her head in her hands. It was a good thing Master didn't talk all that much. . .

She sat there for a few moments, deep in her humiliation and appal, when the sudden clenching and violent twisting deep within her abdomen reminded her that there was food waiting for her on the table. Prodded into motion by the rushing hunger that came with the memory, she strolled over to claim her breakfast between her teeth, while alternately righting her clothing and tucking everything that was not in its proper place back to where it belonged. More humiliation to add to what was already occupying the majority of her thoughts – her underwear just had to be the pair with the kanji for 'Meat' on the rear. Also another thing to be grateful for. . . Master didn't have a chance to read what was on the back.

Finishing off the last of her iron-rich breakfast, she left the empty sachet on the table for Walter to throw away later. If she knew where he disposed of them she would do it herself, but as time stood she had no time to find out where that was - if she didn't hurry up to Fergusson's office soon there'd be no doubt that he'd be sending someone down to drag her to where she was required. It wouldn't be the first time.

Grabbing the jacket she'd left folded over the back of a chair, she quickly slung it on and left her chamber, running her fingers through her hair in place of the brush she didn't have time to use. If Fergusson had sent Alucard down to order her up to his office, then chances were her master had been in there 'keeping him company', in which case her superior officer was **not** likely to be in a good mood.

For some reason, Seras felt that tonight was not going to be one of the best ones she had ever experienced.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to reviewer Wood for pointing out some glaring errors. Apparently, when finally getting back to this fic I forgot to replace this chapter. Sorry. It is five years old, and I was speaking Japanese every day at the time I was writing it, and the language slipped in a lot. Better now? 


	3. Wax On

**III**

Well, it was nice to know that her hunches turned out to be right once in a while. Though in this case she did wish that she had been proven wrong. . .

The shouting that she could hear through the thick closed door that lead into Fergusson's office was not a pleasant thing to be met with when one was feeling disagreeable themselves. Since she had stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her, her slightly off mood had taken a plummet to bad - No thanks to an intimidating perverted Master with the worst sense of timing (or an impeccable sense depending on whether you liked being humiliated on a daily basis) and a cocky rookie that had somehow managed to survive the last raid but was now in line for an accidental tumble down the stairs. Seras's morning had gotten just ever-so-slightly worse over those past three minutes that she had been out of her room. Unexpected leg sex was not fun. Kneeing the perpetrator in the crotch, however, had been. Pity she was going to get yelled at as soon as the shouting in the room beyond stopped and someone opened the door to let her in. She had knocked once already, but she guessed they hadn't heard her.

Barely half a minute into some voice-distorting roaring, the door to Fergusson's office was flung open and a young man with a shiny face fled from within. Seras barely managed to sidestep the distraught soldier as he raced past and pelted with frenetic desperation down the corridor as if Fergusson was racing down it after him, some large frightening piece of medieval weaponry held high over his head. A smile was twisting the edges of her lips as she watched his back disappear around a corner – seeing someone else in trouble for a change was rather enjoyable. The small grin fell from her lips, however, as the light that was cast through the open office door was suddenly blocked out, and the tall, broad-shouldered shadow of Fergusson fell over her.

"Something amusing, Miss Victoria?" Fergusson's deep, commanding voice asked of her.

She quickly broke her eyes away from the corner that they had attached themselves too when his shadow had appeared in the doorway, and brought them up to his face, along with her hand to her temple in a sharp-elbowed salute. She still had a bit of a weak policeman's arm, but her salutes were improving themselves, especially when she was confronted with the hazardously frowning visage of her commanding officer. She really hoped that he wouldn't make her cry like the guy that had just run out of his office.

"N-no, sir!" She replied. She doubted she had ever felt her elbow locked as tightly as it was now. Master would be laughing at her if he saw this, trying to impress Fergusson with her salute so he wouldn't yell at her and make her bawl bloody tears as soon as he closed the door.

"At ease." Fergusson ordered. "Get in here." He stood aside so she could walk inside, and though Seras wasn't certain, she could very easily believe that her knees could quite possibly be knocking together as she walked past the distinguished old soldier and sat down in the straight-backed chair next to his desk.

The door shut behind her with a formidable-sounding thump. Seras felt like opening and closing the door again just to see if it normally made that sound, or was only doing it today because she was in the room. She kept in her seat, however.

"So," The old officer started once he'd sat himself down opposite Seras. "Care to explain?"

"Well…" She replied, uncertain. Her blonde brows furrowed slightly and her annoyance rose yet another small notch, along with a small pinch of paranoia. Fergusson wasn't being very forthright with his questions, today. "What do you want me to explain?" She asked, gathering her courage and going for it. "That half of the new recruits are sexual-misconduct cases waiting to get castrated, or that the other half all have the evolutionary brain function of a kangaroo on a motorway? Either way they're dangerous and an inconvenience to me." Suddenly, she realized that she had sat with her legs apart, and quickly slammed her knees together. She trusted Fergusson enough to know that he wouldn't look, but it was still the dignity of it all.

Fergusson raised a grey eyebrow at her and charily cleared his throat. "Do you have any idea why the first half are giving you such inconvenient attention?"

Seras growled and nodded. "My skirt." She replied. They were always trying to look up it. Or get into it.

Fergusson's other eyebrow rose to meet the first. "So you've deducted that you're uniform is the thing that is causing the team disturbances?"

"Among other things." She muttered. Then louder; "It seems as though they all see me as a 'piece of easy meat', as that poor boy Duncan Meyers declared before something rather unfortunate happened to him." Seras glared at a small thread on the floor, trying to restrain the pleased smile wanting to emerge, aware that she was acting quite out of character, but Fergusson had asked and she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to tell her side of the events that had wound her up here.

"Speaking of that," Fergusson's voice suddenly interjected fiercely. "You're retribution punishments are considered to be too harsh. By breaking Mr. Meyer's leg you have put him out of commission for four months. This is unacceptable. I understand you can more than compensate for the loss of up to five team members, but you also dislocated Mr. Jackson's wrist and badly sprained Mr. Benton's shoulder, both of which will also be out of commission for a number of weeks. As you seem to be the main centre of these accidents, and seeming the FREAK infections are not so often and nor as large outbreaks as earlier this year, I've decided that it may be due time for you to have a holiday."

Seras wasn't sure if she'd heard correctly or not, so blandly, with her eyes still looking but no longer glaring at that small piece of string on the floor, she asked her commanding officer to repeat himself.

"You've been working hard and almost every night for months." Fergusson said instead, and even though he was sounding calm, there was an underlying thread of iron-control that had Seras suspecting that what he was saying was not an easy task. "And regardless as to how well you've been adapting, you are still new to this. Your attitude is worsening, and I will not tolerate dissention, nor abuse among the ranks. There is a job we have to do, and though you are doing yours adequately, your presence and current attitude is keeping the others from doing so. Though you are an important part of these operations and worth more than ten of these men, majority rules. With your presence around we cannot train these men properly. It is important that they are, for humanity's sake."

Seras nodded, and kept her head down. "Any place in particular you want me to go?"

"Well that's the purpose of a holiday, Miss Victoria, you get to pick where you go."

"What?" Seras looked up, meeting Fergusson's smiling eyes and frowning mouth.

"Pick your own bloody holiday destination, Miss Victoria. I can't do everything for you. Now get out. You're dismissed. I don't want to see your face anytime before next Sunday."

Seras stood quickly and saluted again. This time it was so sharp she almost poked herself in the eye. "Yes, sir!" She replied, and quickly left the office. This time, when the door closed behind her, it let out a hair-raising screech before closing with an even more foreboding 'thump'. Seras cast a glance back at it and kept walking. Maybe it was just Fergusson's door.

To be continued…

---------------------------

A/N – Thank you to all of those who reviewed.  
Your feedback was wonderful, and I apologize  
for having kept you all waiting for this chapter  
for so long. Sorry it's so short, as well. It's a  
necessary evil.

**Bre:-** Yeah, they are hard to find, aren't they. I don't think mine is going to be that good, but it started off rather well, I must admit. I haven't looked for a while, but are there any more good AlucardxSeras fics out there?

**DarkflamesSolitude:-** I try, but it can be quite difficult to keep Seras in character. Alucard's easy coz he's so… all over the place, but Seras? She's one tough cookie.

**BJ4:- **I keep forgetting to contact you! I must remember! Slap me on the hand, or something, or email me and ask me what's up. Perhaps that way I'll write a little quicker too. Anyway, you're a fabulous reviewer and I appreciate your opinions. Sorry that this chapter wasn't quite so exciting, but the next one that I will send to you to be beta-d will be. I hope… Yeah. I really hope I haven't lost my funny gland. My stuff's been quite angsty of late. All right! No more angst! Must concentrate on Alucard and Seras!

**C M Forde:- **Yeah, I'm a quirky girl myself. I hate Mary-sue's with a passion and so will do all I can to make my character "normal-ish". Such as, well, as you suggested. Strange things that are actually quite normal. Like me being obsessed with yaoi. (Hey! It's normal for me!)

**Ellie is Day Big:- **Rolling… rolling… rolling… might fall over soon, though… rolling…rolling…Hey, rock n' rolls good music for this! rolls out another chapter

**Kitsune6:- **Thanks for the info. Good to know this sort of thing -

**Zeh Wulf:-** Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, I'd like to get my hands on some of the manga, but I'm a little poor kiwi girl with a crap computer and my supplier of all things Japanese has ran away on me. I must go hunt him down, I think.

**Flerida:- **Wow! A repetitive reader! That is way cool! Glad to know you really appreciate it. hugs Your support is wonderful. I hope you keep reading.


	4. Wax Off

**IV**

* * *

Sometimes, despite Walters supervised cleaning maids scrubbing their brushes bald, a dank, old smell lingered in the lower levels of the Hellsing mansion. It wove in and out of other more savoury scents; the flowers the elderly retainer sometimes left in her room while she was sleeping; her perfume; Master's cologne; gun oil and ozone. It was especially strong in the older areas of the dungeons and cellars where neither her, her master or Walter ever really frequented. 

Places like the lower levels of the keep, where the stones were much more worn and the mortar between them sunken and green. The walls were almost sweating damp; she was so low in Hellsing's underbelly. Somewhere unseen, liquid was dripping, and Seras made note to inform Walter about it. After all that had happened in the manor with the Valentine brothers, water damage going unchecked and weakening foundations with all the rebuilding going on above could be dangerous.

And she was thinking too much again.

It was exactly why she had taken the walk in Hellsing's bowels to begin with. She needed to lose the frustration that gnawed at her since leaving her room at sundown; the annoyance that only rose when Fergusson had given her the order to stand down and take a holiday, and walking and exploring the dark, hidden parts of her current home seemed like the best way to distract herself from it. She should be thinking not on how to fix the place she was living in – there was other people who got paid for doing that. Her job, as of two hours ago, was to fix herself. Or rather her attitude, to be more precise, and that was undoubtedly Fergusson's main concern when he dressed her down earlier with that voice that toiled like restrained thunder.

She was having trouble seeing what was wrong with her, though. Sure, she had a bit of a hair-trigger as of the last few weeks, but considering all that had happened she felt that she was justified in being a little on edge. And her uniform _was_ a problem; it was difficult to run in, to kick in, and it caused no end of teasing amongst the troops. Especially the new ones who as of yet had not learnt that she was not available for dating. She was drinking her blood, though it was sparingly and with a cringe on her face she considered might be permanent. And she wasn't shirking in any of her duties. She might have been clinging stubbornly to her humanity – spiritually and mentally if not physically – and it might have been bothering her master, but it certainly wasn't causing any harm. It wasn't like she was getting confused or unable to differentiate between Human and monster. It was just, when sighting down a rifle or Halconnen at a ghoul or a Freak, and realising that, _hey, you're a monster like them_, and then having to squeeze that trigger… it sometimes made it difficult to justify herself, despite her master's adamant declarations that Freaks and ghouls were the lowest form of muck on the planet. She couldn't help but wonder what that made her. More than shit, obviously, but how much more? How long would it be before someone was putting her in place of the ghoul or Freak and squeezing that trigger to blow her into dust? Would Master care? Would anyone care? Or would it just be another monster taken care of. _What was its name again? You know, Alucard's fledgling?_

And there was the crux of the problem.

Seras stopped short, standing still in the dark narrow corridor, one hand pressed to the damp stones and the other limply clasping an unused torch.

She had lost her identity. Seras Victoria was dead.

Undead, an inner voice that sounded surprisingly like her master replied.

Dead, she corrected. She was dead. Deader than a doornail, dead. Although doornails were never alive to begin with.

Undead.

What the hell was _un_dead, anyway? Dead to start with and then not? Did she die when her master took her blood, and then was resurrected by some voodoo combination of her virginity and his spit?

Ludicrous.

And yet there she was. A facsimile of herself, but with fangs, red eyes, unnatural strength and a voracious appetite for blood. Seras Victoria the human was dead, and Seras Victoria the vampire stood in her place, using her voice and thinking her thoughts, but with some perverted, dissonant Id that had some serious bloodlust issues lurking in the back of her mind like an independent virus. She couldn't even say that she was forced into her current existence. She had been asked and she had answered. She made the choice and now she had to live with it, as it were. And she wasn't. Seras felt her eyes widen. She wasn't really dealing with it at all.

Fergusson was right. She needed a vacation.

She needed to get away, to think about everything that had happened since that life-changing decision in Cheddar. But where could she go? Fergusson said that it was her choice, but was there anywhere really safe, or safe enough, for a fledgling Draculina to go? Nowhere near Italy, she would be insane and would do herself in just on the principle alone if she ventured anywhere near the Vatican stronghold. France? America? Asia? Africa? Closer to home, maybe. Scotland?

Seras resumed her walking as she mulled destinations over in her head, weighing the pros and cons of each option. Would Hellsing be paying for this vacation or would she be doing it off of her own back? Was she even being paid? On that line, did Master get paid? Eloquently, he was a servant; technically he was a slave. Slaves didn't get paid, did they. And taking that one step further, Seras belonged to her master, so, along that same reasoning, and although she wasn't bound like her master to the Hellsing bloodline, she too would be a slave, wouldn't she?

Seras once again stopped where she was. Partly due to the shock of her unexpected revelation, but also because the corridor she was in ended suddenly at a wall.

Ahead of her there was a heavy metal door, run with rust red rivers down its face, speckled with flakes of green from oxidised copper; bubbled and formless at the edges with rust. A large white eye, barely identifiable through the ravages of age and damp, gleamed chalk white between the raised scars of rust. That it was still clear, still brilliant white when the door itself was like melting wax was telling alone of its magical nature.

Seras' inquisitive mind leaped on the distraction like a hungry fox on a rabbit. Maybe it was another sealed room, like the one her master had been imprisoned in before Sir Integral let him out. Maybe this one had Frankenstein in it. Or the Mummy! It would explain why this door was still sealed. Hellsing would have no need for monsters such as those – one a lovesick zombie made out of dead peoples body parts, and the other a costly maintenance bill. Mummies would always be falling apart, she imagined. Desiccated skin wrapped in bandages couldn't make for good warriors anyway. One good tug by a Freak in battle and _whoooooosh!_ Naked Egyptian and a Freak with an armful of bandages it wouldn't know what to do with. And then Master would laugh and lose his head. She wasn't quite sure on how he would lose it, but it was inevitable anyway.

Maybe the door held another vampire behind it. One even meaner and more insane than her master. Seras felt simultaneously excited and fearful at the prospect. Her master was intimidating, and really strong, and equally crazy. But he was controlled. If there was another vampire down here, sealed and unused when right now they needed all the help they could get; it would be because they didn't have the same restrictions on it that they had on her master. That would be the only reason, she thought, as she took a slow step towards the door.

Reaching out with her free hand, she dragged one damp fingertip down a ripple of rusted metal, feeling the sharp edges where it was peeling away from the door tug at the material of her glove. Following the furrow down the face of the door; where it intersected the white curve of the lower lid and interrupted the stark line with its jagged deformation, she felt the tingling touch of a presence.

Something old, maybe ancient. Something long gone, or maybe just very small. The presence was barely a whisper and more like a memory of a thing that had resided there for a while. Like the damp smell in her room, it still lingered despite any reason for it being there having long since gone.

Drawing her finger back she cast her eyes once more over the stylised eye that spread widthways across the door. Something had been behind that door once. Something strong and old, and restrained. A prisoner and slave like her master.

Whatever it was, it wasn't there now, she decided, and there were no obvious clues to be gained from a sealed door that could give a simple reason why. Maybe whatever it was had been set free. Maybe it had escaped. Maybe, and Seras felt a tide of insensible fear at this, it had died. Maybe they had killed it. Maybe they'd…

She yelled at herself to stop that train of thought right away. They'd only have killed it if it had been dangerous, and uncontrolled – like a true monster. Her master was not like that, not anymore, and nor was she. And why was she so concerned about the thing that had been behind the door, anyway?

Shaking her head at her folly and deciding to leave it as it was for now, Seras turned her back to the rusted door and started back up the narrow corridor. It was a dead-end anyway, and it wasn't as though she could go any further without breaking down that door – and she wasn't willing to risk the wrath that might induce if there was still something behind it that her feeble fledgling senses couldn't pick up. She made a note to ask Walter about it later. The retainer knew almost everything there was to know about the Hellsing family mansion, and if anyone knew anything about what was behind the door, it would be him.

Twenty minutes of twisting corridors and confounding dead ends later, Seras finally found herself somewhere familiar. The scent of mould and stagnant water was not as strong, and if she inhaled through her nose softly enough she could just make out the lingering musk of her master's cologne. Her exploring was almost at an end. So far she had found the creepy eye-door, an old storage room with rotted wooden barrels of who knows what it used to be but now resembled calcified fuzzy black cat vomit, and a pair of old glasses – unbroken – that had been lying in the corner of a passage where it made a sharp ninety degree turn. The lenses were tinted just a little in a shade that her master seemed to favour, and she wondered if maybe they were once a pair of his. They hung now by one arm off her left breast pocket, lenses out, and she hoped that they were secure enough not to fall.

Pausing just a little when she noticed a flickering light up ahead, she quickened her steps once she recognised the silhouette as that of Hellsing's retainer.

"Walter!" she greeted him, stopping just short of embracing the gentleman. Habit was always prompting her to hug him each time she saw him, but she was always held back from doing so by her uncertainty on how he would react. Tonight was just another repeat of it.

"Miss Seras," he responded, a small smile on his lips. "I've been looking for you."

"You have?"

"Yes. Master Alucard is out on a mission and Miss Integral wishes to see you."

Seras nodded and followed Walter as he started leading the way back up to the ground floor.

"If Master was here you would have sent him to get me, huh?"

"Oh yes," Walter replied. "It's much more efficient that way."

Seras sighed. "Has he always been as he is now?"

"As long as I have known him, yes." The thread of amusement was clear in gentleman's voice. "Though I cannot say whether he was better or worse before that."

Seras felt herself cracking a small smile. "You just like making him fetch things, don't you?"

With a perfectly straight face he stated; "Woof."

Seras barked out a laugh. "Have I told you how much I love you, Walter?" she asked.

"Not since last week, Miss Seras," he told her.

They bantered lightly for a while and then passed the rest of the return time in companionable silence. It wasn't until they were ascending the grand staircase that Seras spoke again.

"Do you know what it is that Sir Integral wants with me?" she asked him.

"I imagine that it has something to do with your vacation, Miss Seras," he replied. "If I might take that torch off of your hands?"

Suddenly remembering the unused device dangling by its string from her wrist, she disentangled it and handed it over.

"Is she angry with me?" she asked timidly.

At this Walter paused. "Whatever for?" he asked. "Have you done something that would warrant her anger?"

"Um… not that I know of, but-"

"Then I sincerely doubt that she's angry with you, Seras."

"Still…" she trailed off as they came to a stop outside Integral's office.

"Miss Seras," Walter said, pausing before he opened the door. "I do believe that Miss Integral is merely curious about your travel plans. I would not be surprised if she has a few ideas for you also, so don't concern yourself with her anger. Your master has been quite behaved tonight and bothered her barely enough to make her throw a stapler."

Seras exhaled in relief. It was when Integral graduated to throwing furniture that things became hazardous to the relative health of Hellsing's resident undead. That it was only a stapler, and that Walter was joking about it, was a very good sign.

"Thanks Walter," she said.

Walter gave a small smile. "You're welcome, Miss Seras."

* * *

End of Chapter

* * *

A/N: Just thought I'd give a heads up and let you all know that this  
fic has become an odd mix of both manga and anime. It's an AU  
anyway, so it really shouldn't bother anyone. 


	5. Sand The Floor

** V**

* * *

Integral's doors never squeaked. They never groaned like the door to Seras' room, nor did they creak like the door to the kitchen or boom ominously like the one to Fergusson's office. They hushed, as if they were whispering to their hinges to make no sound, and that disturbed Seras more than anything she could have deluded herself into imagining down in the estates underground corridors. In new houses doors were expected to squeak – if only a little – but in old houses it was a mandate. That Sir Integrals gave nary a sound made the large expanse of her barren office seem even more formidable.

Behind her impregnable fortress of a desk Sir Integral sat like a stalagmite of ice; tall, straight, and with glorious posture which made Seras straighten her own back and shoulders self-consciously. Integral was completely isolated on her side of the desk, and Seras abandoned on the other. There was no chair for her to sit in. Integral knew how to unsettle people. It was something that Seras found quite enviable about the woman.

"Seras," Integral greeted, putting down a pen and turning her full attention to the fledgling. "How has your evening been?"

"Quite well, thank you," Seras replied. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"I did." Integral pushed her glasses up further upon her nose. "How are your holiday plans progressing?"

"Well…um…"

"I hope that you have had adequate time to prepare," she continued on after pausing to allow Seras to stutter some more.

"Well, not really…" Seras murmured, and Integrals eyes gave her an unreadable stare for a moment before she broke away to glance down at a sheaf of papers on her desk.

"I had thought that would be the case," she said. "Seras."

Seras felt her back snap even straighter at Integral's authoritative tone, meeting the stormy grey eyes of the woman across the meters and the broad expanse of the desk that separated them.

"Hellsing acquired a large property north of the Aegean Sea quite a while ago. It's isolated, and completely self-sufficient. We have been training new recruits there for five years now without incident. Now, I understand that you might want to take a step away from this organisation for your vacation, but I simply cannot allow that step to be unsupervised. You understand?"

Seras nodded. Unfortunately, she did. Vampire divided by Hellsing equaled Hellsing Vampire, or Dead Vampire depending on the variables. Hellsing Vampire minus Hellsing equaled Vampire, and that was something that was too dangerous to go unchallenged by Integral's, and hell, even Seras' own standards.

"Y-yes, Sir," she said, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest that let her know that, despite her reservations, she had really been getting into the idea of taking a break away.

Integral's head dipped forwards in a barely perceptible nod. "So Seras, you have two options." The phosphorus overhead light reflected off of Integral's lenses as the leader of the Hellsing Organisation tilted her head slightly to the side. "One being that you take your vacation at the alternative Hellsing property where all your necessities will be taken care of and where you will be left entirely to your own devices – providing you obey the usual stipulations regarding behaviour befitting an officer of Hellsing. Or," and Seras felt that weight drop even lower and grow leaden at Integral's pause. "You can take your vacation anywhere you want provided that you take two officers and six men with you."

"What?!"

"You are an unbound vampire, Seras, and though I would like to think that I could trust you implicitly, there are far too many variables to guarantee that sort of trust. Do you understand?"

"W-well, y-yes, Sir! But--"

"Seras, please listen."

Seras halted her stuttering attempts to formulate a coherent sentence and tried to control her chaotic thoughts. She focussed her eyes on Integral's mouth and eyes, and concentrated on keeping her hands from coming up and waving around in indignant frustration.

Integral's eyes were steady, a steely grey in that light, but with a hint of the softness of magnesium, which Seras had not expected to see.

"Understand," the older woman said, her tone unchanged but her face more relaxed. "These stipulations are as much for your safety as for the safety of others. You are an important member of this organisation, and to unnecessarily risk your destruction is not an act I will readily condone, whether that destruction be through the Iscariots or an act of necessity on the part of Hellsing itself."

Seras nodded. No feeding on the locals - got it she thought, but outwardly said only "Yes, Sir."

"I need you to be aware of your value, Seras."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you need time to make your decision?"

Seras paused, thought about it, and then said "No, Sir."

Integral leaned back in her chair. "And?" A silver pen in her fingers glinted as she flicked it.

"The Hellsing property sounds perfect, Sir."

The corner of Integral's lips curled as she leaned forwards again. "Excellent," she said. "I'll inform Walter. He will make the arrangements. You will leave tomorrow night. Dismissed."

Seras saluted smartly and left. The door whispered behind her as it closed and Seras barely restrained a shiver at the quiet sound.

What the hell had just happened in there? That was manipulation if she had ever seen it. Integral really wanted her at that other Hellsing property, though the woman's reasoning for it was about as clear as mud. Seras really couldn't fault the perks of the property – she would be isolated, but would have quasi-familiar company should she need it. She wouldn't have to worry about where her food would be coming from, or her accommodation, or her safety, either, though that last one was only ever a serious concern when seven foot tall priests were hanging around with giant letter openers. Integral had offered her a vacation spot that she would be crazy to refuse, and she had done it without any of the finesse Seras would have expected from her.

'_You need to be aware of your value, Seras,_' she mouthed as she descended the grand staircase. Integral had made it sound like she was irreplaceable. Seras liked to think that such a romantic notion was true, but every soldier was replaceable, even the undead ones, and being a police officer who had died and been replaced only made that more clear to her.

And, new question; how was Master going to feel about this? It was highly likely he already knew about her sudden vacation leave, and the whys, and probably the hows too, as barely a thing passed through the halls of the manor without his ears or eyes noticing. Did he know about the where? Maybe. Did he care? Probably not as much as she would like. Would he be annoyed? Now that she had no idea about. She frustrated him often, she could tell. Her master was not very expressive, but his aura could give away any number of clues to his mood, and even more often than not, when she was around him she felt mostly as though he was disappointed in her. Maybe he would think of this vacation of hers as a vacation for himself, as well. A break from child-minding his troublesome fledgling.

She did not mean to be troublesome, it was just that some things were difficult to let go of – especially if they were habits nineteen years old, and were things that made her essentially _her_. It had been so long since her master had been human that he no doubt had very little recollection of what it had actually felt like to be one. Sure, he had a fantastic memory as he had demonstrated on numerous occasions, but recollection over time became flat and unemotional like a police report, and though there were things that said that at this time they were happy, or at this time they were scared, the actual feelings of joy or terror could not be relived. Not through memory alone. Could anyone really blame her for clinging stubbornly to what she had left?

The first floor of the mansion was unusually busy, Seras noted, as she passed from the main entrance hall into a bustling wing filled with Wild Geese. In their midst she could make out Walter, who must have gone to the west wing directly after seeing her to Sir Integral's office. The elderly Hellsing retainer was currently engaged in conversation with the head of the Wild Geese, wiggling his gloved fingers slightly as he gestured delicately with his hands while he talked. Captain Pip Bernadette nodded as he listened, his fingers alternately tapping the clip of the weapon slung over his shoulder or playing with the long gold braid looped around his neck like a loose garrotte. They looked as though they were enjoying their conversation. She felt it better not to interrupt them.

She passed through the hall as best as she could, dodging past Geese who were lugging about crates of things, calling obscenely to each other primarily in French and in a combination of other languages, or just gesticulating with both military hand signals and common hand slang. She had no idea what they were doing. Integral hadn't said anything and neither had Walter. Maybe they were gearing up to run some inside field exercises.

"Excuse me," she said as she had to wriggle through between the backs or two Geese.

If they were running exercises why hadn't they included her? She was one of the troops, too, and involved just as much. She would be there if the mansion was being attacked, so why wasn't she there in the training? All of a sudden from the rear of her mind Fergusson's words came back to kick her sharply. _' __With your presence around we cannot train these men properly. _'

Seras stopped in the centre of the hall. One of the Geese, she forgot his name, had to abruptly sidestep to avoid running into her back. He swore as he passed her, but she ignored it completely, having been just struck in the face, metaphorically speaking, with her current problem.

It was strange how some epiphanies happened. Seras never thought that she would be standing in the centre of a stone corridor, watching mercenaries prep for some scenario exercises when the revelation that would change the rest of her existence cleaved through her mind like one of Father Anderson's blades. It stung, the realisation, with the pins of guilt and the needles of sudden repine, and it drove straight down into her gut where it lodged, stuck thick and firm somewhere in the vicinity of her navel.

Her vision shortened while widening, a confusing paradox of inverted tunnel vision. Everything directly within her line of sight became murky, while her peripheral vision sharpened, the Wild Geese around her becoming awash with colours and definition alien to her memory.

These men would die, she realised, struck motionless with their mortality. More likely sooner than later unless they were trained properly. They were flesh, bones, blood and beating heart, pumped full of imminent fatality; walking with hourglass nooses about their necks. Precious because of their temporary nature, beautiful because they changed; they were in a continual state of flux and suddenly their value was of much greater worth to Seras than it had been before.

"Dear God," she said. "What have I been doing?"

"S'cuse me, Miss?" a Goose said to her left. She turned her head to meet his vibrant blue eyes, almost electric with the high burn of life that thrummed within them like the engine of a cruising V8. He was confused, the expression obvious on his features. She couldn't bring herself to say anything more, only look at him, really look, and try to commit his face to memory, because all too soon it would be gone and that fire that burned behind his eyes would be snuffed out like the flame from an unnecessary candle.

It was her duty to protect these men. She was stronger, faster, harder to destroy and an easier target for enemies to aim for. She was supposed to be keeping these men alive. And she…

The Goose took a half step back as Seras felt her eyes begin to prickle with tears. She had failed so miserably at that job when the Valentine brothers had stormed the manor and killed all but three of the human residents; Fergusson, Integral, and Walter. Her master had been fighting another supposedly category A vampire, and it was her responsibility to care for the troops. Instead… instead she let them down. She hadn't been feeding properly, hadn't been training properly; she had been weak and incapable. It was her fault that so many had been lost.

Her fault.

She was focussed too much on trying to retain her humanity that she was a pitiful vampire. It was causing casualties. Her refusal to accept what she was, was getting people killed; some friends, some comrades, some total, innocent strangers.

Fergusson was right – her presence as it was now, was helping no one. She was not human. Once she had been one but not for many months now. There was no point in trying to hold onto something she didn't have anymore. It was right that she be made to take some time away from the troops and the missions, to focus on herself. She needed to be away from everything that could make her self-conscious, somewhere she could start over, where she could stop fighting against the differences and work at becoming comfortable with her new body and its instincts. Finally start doing what she should have done months ago when snuggled into the strong cradle of her master's arms.

"Seras?" a concerned voice said at her elbow. She turned her face from the blatantly confused Goose to her other shoulder and there met the worried green eyes of Walter.

Seras became aware that her tears had spilled over by the sticky wetness she could feel on her cheeks. She noticed that some of the other mercenaries had stopped what they were doing and were watching her silently, and for the first time in months she did not feel uneasy about the eyes on her.

"Oh, Walter," she said, her voice throbbing with the mix of emotions her revelation had churned up. "I'm so sorry!"

The green eyes became confused as the gloved hands offered a handkerchief politely. "Whatever for?" he asked.

Seras took the cotton square gratefully, smiling through her tears as she shrugged at him. "Oh, try everything," she said. "I didn't realise how dangerous my stubbornness was. I'll fix it, I swear to you, Walter. I'll come back better, I promise." He probably didn't understand what she was talking about, but the words had come out on their own, spurred by her guilt and the energy of her new convictions.

She took a step back and turned away from the retainer before she started to cry properly. "I promise," she said again, more quietly, a promise to herself more than to any who could hear her.

She had accepted this life. Now it was time that she did something with it.

* * *

_Of Human Form_

* * *

Walter watched her back as she went, her shoulders held in a way he hadn't seen for well over two months. He felt a small flush of warmth pass through him at her determination. She was a formidable little thing. He recognised a lot of her master in her, and a lot of himself as well. It was no wonder that Alucard had found her so interesting. If he himself had been perhaps twenty years younger…

Walter smiled and shook his head a little at his whimsy, watching as those narrow but strong shoulders turned to head down to the basements. Her determination was admirable; her desire to change palpable and that voice which had throbbed with conviction had stirred things in him he hadn't felt since the days of the holocaust and girlycard.

"I do believe you will, Seras," he murmured to himself in response to that last quiet little whisper of hers. "And such a sight you will be."


End file.
